<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>24 Moral Judgments by Merrianna, samwise_baggins</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203228">24 Moral Judgments</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrianna/pseuds/Merrianna'>Merrianna</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins'>samwise_baggins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Speed Burn [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>CSI: Miami, CSI: NY, NYPD Blue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Cartoon references, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Language, Light Dom/sub, Medical Conditions, Mental Breakdown, Mild Sexual Content, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:40:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrianna/pseuds/Merrianna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Flack deals with three victims and a missing suspect, Stella becomes absorbed in a missing child case, Aiden has to try to solve other crimes while dealing with the Pratt case, and Mac deals with recuperation and a rambunctious toddler. Nothing's as easy as it seems in New York.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aiden Burn &amp; Danny Messer, John Kelly/Original Female Character, Stella Bonasera &amp; Mac Taylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Speed Burn [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/525127</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Notions (prologue)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Setting: AU: SpeedBurn: New York City: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<br/>.<br/>Note: Mac's injuries and Speed's help in a New York case occurred during "<i>Speed Trap<i>". Stella's attack was in "<i>Life Altering</i></i>". Both stories are in the SpeedBurn timeline.<br/>.<br/>Due to timeline discrepancies, this story had to be altered. (We realized Mac was too injured to be on the job.)</i></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New York City: Crime Lab: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p>
<p>Anger and despair warred equally in the dark-haired detective as she pushed back from the microscope. Aiden couldn't believe that there she found absolutely no trace available, not even the smallest hair. Pratt would walk, like eighteen months ago, and this time no one could do anything.</p>
<p>True, he'd walked before, but that was because the victim, Regina, had refused to testify. Having been allegedly raped a second time by the same suspect, Regina felt more than willing to press charges and testify; however, this time there appeared to be no evidence to back up her claims. And the entire situation ate at Aiden like no other case had before.</p>
<p>With unsteady hands Aiden lifted the small evidence bag, her initials clearly notated across the unbroken red evidence tape over the seal. The single hair inside contained Pratt's DNA and would definitely link him to this rape. The evidence she held contained only one problem, however: it was eighteen months old, like all other evidence related to this fresh case.</p>
<p>Aiden considered something no CSI should ever even play at thinking about and, as a result, she had gone to the evidence locker to sign out the old evidence tied to Pratt and his repeat victim. Now, she sat looking at that single damning hair: a hair that could get the suspect put away where Aiden strongly felt he belonged but could also get her drummed out of law enforcement if she were caught planting it on the clothing from the fresh attack.</p>
<p>Reaching for the small blade to make the irrevocable step of slicing open the seal, Aiden hesitated. Slowly the troubled investigator drew her hand away from the blade, lowering the evidence in her other hand. One other choice remained . . . one person who might be able to give her advice. Aiden hadn't found anything on the pieces of evidence gathered, but she knew one Trace Expert who could seemingly pull evidence from thin air. He'd managed to draw blood and liquid evidence from Danny's clothes almost a year ago; evidence which had helped crack that case and put the killer away.</p>
<p>Still shaking, praying he could help though he lived miles away, Aiden backed from the table and the evidence she'd nearly tampered with and drew off her gloves. With a deep, troubled sigh, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the phone number she'd gotten from him just a few days ago. A very long, tense moment passed and Aiden seriously considered hanging up and going with her not-so-sane previous plan, but a steady, quiet voice came over the line before she could put action to thought.</p>
<p>"Speedle."</p>
<p>Relief spread through the woman and she smiled at the image the voice conjured: a man with dark curls, teddy-bear cuteness, and a serious, intense, burning gaze. "Hey, Joe-Joe," she laughed then winced at how false the humor sounded.</p>
<p>"Hey, Aiden." Tim Speedle's voice came out a pleasant balm. "I didn't expect to hear from you today." His tone sounded inviting despite the words.</p>
<p>Aiden responded, "I need some big advice, Joe."</p>
<p>"Got it. What's the problem?"</p>
<p>She liked how he always went straight to the point. Some people in the New York Crime Lab had thought him withdrawn and a bit unfeeling, but Aiden had understood him. He'd gone through hell, though it hadn't been until very recently that she'd know just what kind of hell, and he didn’t feel comfortable opening up. Speed’s honesty, sometimes to the point of blunt rudeness, often rubbed people the wrong way, but Aiden could respect that in a CSI.</p>
<p>"I have a rape case. The victim was raped eighteen months ago but refused to testify. She’s been," Aiden paused to gather her anger and swallow then pushed on, "raped again, and she swears it’s the same guy. We have some evidence on him from the last case, but there's nothing this time."</p>
<p>"There's always evidence, Aiden," Speed sounded so certain, so calm, that Aiden frowned and wondered if she'd made a mistake calling the Miami Trace Expert.</p>
<p>With a steadying breath she slowly enunciated, "well, this time he was very clever. There isn't any." Without giving him a chance to say anything she barreled on to the real reason she called. "Joe," she frowned as she realized she'd been calling him by the wrong name, "I mean, Tim."</p>
<p>"You can call me Joe; I don't mind." His voice sounded just as calm, just as withdrawn, as before and somehow Aiden found herself wondering if he really was as cold as the other New Yorkers thought him to be. His next words relieved her of that misconception. "So, you're tempted to take the evidence from the last case and use it for this one, right?"</p>
<p>She felt surprised he didn't sound judgmental about such a drastic misuse of power. Cautiously she replied, "tempted, but I didn't do it. Boy do I want to get this guy; I promised Regina. Pratt needs to be brought down."</p>
<p>"Been there." His matter-of-fact tone surprised her but she felt grateful. <i>Tim Speedle, Miami's celebrated trace wiz, had been to the point of wanting to plant evidence?</i></p>
<p>"What'd you do, Joe?"</p>
<p>She could hear Speed shift in his chair, it needed oiling, before he slowly answered her. "I went out and looked for more evidence. Unfortunately, it took another murder to get the guy but they gave him the death penalty. I guess some would say it was worth the wait. Look, Aiden. Don't do it. Something like that would take you out of the picture and how many <i>more</i> Regina's can you help if you <i>stay</i> a CSI? There's always gonna be a Pratt out there to tempt you, but don't give in. You're better than that."</p>
<p>"He'll walk, Joe . . . I can't stand that. And what do I tell Regina? Or the next girl?" Aiden took a trembling breath and continued in a shaky voice, "I'm starting to burn out, Joe. I want so much to help that this isn't the first time I've thought about tampering. What if next time I feel stronger about setting the guy up than calling for advice?" She leaned forward though Speed was hundreds of miles away in Miami. "Can I really trust myself?"</p>
<p>It took a very long moment before Speed responded and Aiden feared she'd truly sunk herself in her friend's eyes. When he did reply she felt too surprised to comprehend right away.</p>
<p>"Get a second opinion."</p>
<p>"What?" confusion and surprise rang in that one word.</p>
<p>His voice sounded just as calm and controlled. "Get a second opinion, a second lab. Get permission from Mac to send the evidence down here, and I'll see what I can do." From almost anyone else the assumption that he could find evidence where she couldn't would have come off as blatant arrogance. Knowing what she did about his knowledge, Speed's comment came off as a Godsend.</p>
<p>"I . . ." she toyed with the idea. Would Mac really approve her sending the evidence to a second lab for another opinion?</p>
<p>"Hey, Aiden, the most he can do is say <i>'No,'</i> right? But you won't know until you ask." When she didn't readily respond, he continued, "Look, it's almost the end of shift. Why don't you sleep on it tonight? Call me back tomorrow, either way. If he says 'No', we'll come up with something else, okay? It won't be the first time Miami and New York collaborated on a case to catch a serial offender."</p>
<p>Thankful for that soothing voice of reason, and a suggestion she hadn't thought of and might work, Aiden found herself smiling for the first time since being handed Regina's case. "Right. Thanks, Joe. I'll call tomorrow, okay?" After a brief pause, she quickly added, "We miss you up here, Joe."</p>
<p>Speed's soft, deep laughter reverberated even after they'd hung up. She might have been pretty much babysitting him while he'd served in New York the last year. After all Mac had thought he could be a security risk since Danny thought Speed looked like a Tanglewood Boy he used to know. But Aiden felt glad she'd gotten to know the quiet man.</p>
<p>With a sigh, once more looking at the frustrating evidence, she gathered bags and vials together, along with the logs, and headed back to the evidence locker to sign it in for the night. Speed gave sound advice of a night to sleep on it and she would follow it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dawning Horror</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Setting: New York City: Setting: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New York City: <b>Crime Lab</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p><p>Nearing the end of the shift two calls came in, back to back. Dispatch quickly logged them and notified the detectives on duty. The day shift would be required to field both cases, despite only having half an hour left on the clock: crime waited on no one's schedule.</p><p>Detective Don Flack, Jr. took the call slips and signaled Detectives Thacker and Scagnetti to follow him up to the Crime Lab. It would be easier to draw the investigators' attention in person this late in the day. Before he could take more than a couple of steps the tall, dark-haired officer came to a halt, nearly causing Thacker to collide with him. Don ignored his fellow officer in favor of turning a harsh glare on the rookie at Dispatch.</p><p>"Why is this only coming in now?" He waved the slips of paper in the air agitatedly. "It says the woman's called four times about her missing kid!"</p><p>The Dispatch worker shook her head and gave the senior officer a frown. "The woman says her daughter is missing but can't provide any tangible reasons why her kid would be threatened or kidnapped. We've had a full shift of priority cases, so a runaway gets shunted back. I've already explained to her that most often in these runaway cases, the kid comes back by dinner or bedtime, or in a couple of days." She continued to glare at the detective. "And that other slip is an active assault case, so the runaway gets prioritized behind it."</p><p>Don spun on his heel without further comment and bolted into the elevator with Thacker and Scagnetti trying to stay right behind. The tall officer impatiently slammed the button for the 35th floor Crime Lab while simultaneously pulling out his cell phone and dialing. "Damn that woman! C'mon, Stella, you better not be buried under some sorta gunk!" He knew Mac Taylor, the crime lab head, had taken medical leave since he’d been shot only eight days before. Apparently Stella had insisted Mac stay at her place while he healed: his dominant hand, other shoulder, and one leg were pretty badly injured.</p><p>Thankfully the friendly, warm voice of Detective Stella Bonasera, assistant head of the Crime Lab, came through the connection. "Hey, Flack, whatcha need?”</p><p>"Stella," Don said agitatedly, his manner urgent as he glared at the slowly rising numbers above his head. "We've got an assault in progress and a possible kidnapping that's been shunted for over twelve hours. I need CSI's ASAP! I'm on my way up with the slips."</p><p>"You've got the entire team, Don. We'll be ready when you get here," Stella's voice responded, reassuring, calming despite the seriousness of the delay.</p><p>Most child abductions went quickly downhill. The kid's life could be in very real danger if she was not a runaway, and gut instinct told Don that this case would turn into one of the bad ones. He didn't even bother to thank the investigator before shutting off his connection and pocketing the cell phone.</p><p>The door opened revealing the tall, shapely figure of Stella Bonasera, holding the handle of her case and looking intense. With Stella were the other day shift investigators: Danny Messer, and Aiden Burn . . . both hand-picked by the department head, Mac Taylor, and well able to handle either case on their own if necessary. The newest investigators rushed up: Sheldon Hawkes, who'd just switched out from the Medical Examiner's office, and Lindsay Monroe, on loan from Bozeman, Montana while Mac recovered from his severe injuries. Don nodded his appreciation, handing the slips over to Stella. The tall detective spun on his heel and led the motley bunch into the elevator to join his two officers.</p><p>Pushing the button for the ground level, Don started speaking without turning around. "We've got a girl missing over twelve hours, but the rookie on Dispatch figured she was a runaway and kept putting off assigning her. The other's an assault in progress, if it still is . . . an open 9-1-1 without any response, but apparently the noises Dispatch heard <i>'sounded like a bar brawl'</i>," he repeated from memory. "I'll send Scagnetti to help with the missing kid, and Thacker and I will go to the assault." He impatiently glared at the slow moving numbers above him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Lab</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>It was a toss-up over whose complaints over the mishandling of the missing girl were more incensed: Danny's or Lindsay's.</p><p>"Twelve hours! That's insane!" Danny's anger vibrated through his voice and body. "The twenty-four hour rule ended years ago; how can dispatch . . ."</p><p>Lindsay overrode him, "How old is this kid? The mother called four times and no one thought to ask?"</p><p>With a frown Stella's voice cut through them both, control evident in her tones. "Aiden, Sheldon, Danny . . . go to the assault. Lindsay, you're with me on the missing kid." She had deliberately assigned the two protestors to separate cases; it would be easier if they weren't so emotionally charged before showing up. Flack could be right in assuming it could be a kidnapping, but the missing kid could just as easily turn out to be a disgruntled sixteen-year-old angry over not being allowed to see her boyfriend on a weeknight. Stella wanted cool heads covering this case. Aiden and Danny could handle the assault case without getting too emotional about it, despite the assault Stella had endured in May.</p><p>Stella didn't comment when the only response to her directives was Aiden's. It had already been a very full shift, and it looked like they'd have an equally full double. With a deep sigh, she pulled out her phone and called Mac to warn him she wouldn’t be home on time.</p><p>“Mac Taylor?” The injured detective sounded sleepy, disorganized, and adorably confused due to his medicine and injuries. “No, Connor, ear, not nose, sweetie.”</p><p>“Somebody trying to be very helpful?” Stella giggled at the adorable image in her mind. She couldn’t keep a straight face; it was just too cute. She saw that Don’s face contorted with his own efforts and Danny looked like the cat that ate the dog’s share of food. In fact, only the two detectives and Lindsay didn’t react with amusement to Stella’s part of the conversation.</p><p>“So very helpful,” Mac said dryly, sounding much more alert. “What happened?”</p><p>Trying to repress her giggles, despite the seriousness of the situation, Stella cleared her throat and informed her best friend, “I’ve got a double. Can you ask Sister Anna to stay and help you with Connor?”</p><p>“Sister Anna called this morning. She couldn’t show up. I’ve got this.” Mac sounded tired and like he needed his next two doses of pain meds.</p><p>The amusement left instantly and worry filled the green-eyed woman’s eyes. “You’ve been home alone all this time with Connor and you didn’t call me?” What sounded like a veiled threat hung in her tone.</p><p>“Connor’s helped a lot. He knows how to turn on the TV, use the microwave, and was my hand. We’re fine. Go work. Don’t worry, Stella. He didn’t touch the meds. I wouldn’t let him.” Mac reassured his worried friend and co-worker.</p><p>“Oh, you are such a Marine, Mac. We are so going to talk about this when I get back.” Stella’s eyes blazed emerald. “Going all day without medication?”</p><p>The elevator door slid open and the rest of the group piled out, Lindsay watched Stella with nervous, wide eyes.</p><p>Stepping out of the elevator, holding up a single finger to stop the rest of the team, Stella growled, “We aren’t done this, MacKenna Llewellyn Taylor.” Stella hung up and immediately dialed again. As soon as she heard the pick up sound, she barked, “Jonny, get over to my apartment. Mac’s been without meds or adult supervision all day. With Connor.”</p><p>Johnny’s voice sounded torn between amusement and worry, “on my way. Do you want a call back?”</p><p>“Yes. Immediately. Text me,” Stella ordered and hung up, turning flashing eyes on Don. “Let’s go, Flack.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #1</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>When Don and his team arrived at the Brooklyn address, an ambulance already sat there. One EMT tried to talk to a hysterical older woman; the ride-along medic merely stood by impatiently.</p><p>"What's going on?" The detective cut in without a qualm.</p><p>The ride-along turned a frustrated glare on Flack. "No one knows who could have called. We're about to canvas."</p><p>"That's our job."</p><p>Don nodded to Thacker, who clung to Aiden's side as if afraid the woman would disappear if he took his eyes off her. A damn fine investigator, Thacker was a little on the shallow side on how he handled their female CSI's. Don chose to let Aiden handle Thacker; she'd ask if she needed his intervention. He looked at the elderly woman being questioned by the other EMT and asked, "So what's her problem?"</p><p>With a shrug the ride-along disgustedly said, "Her cat's been missing for a couple of hours and she's afraid it's been . . ." with a malicious grin which he hid behind his hand, the man rolled his eyes at Flack, "cat-napped."</p><p>Frowning repressively at the other man, Don said, in a disapproving manner, "And you'd laugh if your Grandma lost her poodle?"</p><p>That shut the ride-along up, and Don turned his attention to the gathering crowd. "Anyone call 9-1-1?"</p><p>Bustling over, a man with greasy hair and a thick, dark mustache called out, "I checked the switchboard and there ain't no open phone lines in the building."</p><p>"You'd be the super." It was not a question.</p><p>"Damn straight! Used to be you'd be able to tell everything what was goin' on in a building this small. Eight floors and everybody's using cell phones. Ain't nobody got no pride no more?"</p><p>"Yeah, well I ask the questions," Don merely looked at him with no expression, "so shut up."<br/>
The man spluttered off into silence.</p><p>Don looked towards Aiden, who was on her cell phone. She hung up and nodded. "I've got them trying to trace the call to a more specific area or user. It's still open."</p><p>"Which means the guy's still waiting for help," Sheldon jumped in.</p><p>Danny frowned. "Or he can't hang up any more."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #2</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>At Stella's firm knock, the door swung open revealing a surprising sight. A petite woman stood just inside the door of the Manhattan penthouse . . . if she was old enough to be called an adult: she looked no older than sixteen, dressed in a flowing, white nightgown and no shoes. She had pale skin with dark green eyes and tangled waist-length blonde hair, and tears streaked her face, both old and new. She blinked at them as if in a daze. An older woman dressed in the typical uniform of a house cleaner hurried forward to gently push the girl . . . woman . . . away.</p><p>Stella stepped forward to draw attention. "My name is Detective Stella Bonasera. We received notification that there's a possible missing child from this residence." She wondered if the younger woman in the nightgown might be their missing girl; she certainly looked like she could be.</p><p>The house cleaner nodded and in a <i>'pure'</i> Manhattan accent briskly said, "I need identification, Madams." She had a no-nonsense manner.</p><p>After presenting their credentials, which seemed to satisfy the older woman, the investigators entered the beautifully appointed Penthouse.</p><p>The artwork on the walls and individual pedestals were worth five times any detective's annual salary apiece. A grand piano, though closed and looked unused if clean, stood to one side. A set of doors hung on the other side of the large expanse. A hallway leading towards more doors stood across the vast thickly carpeted spaces. Leading towards the back of the house, and presumably the kitchen or service area, branched a second hallway. The entire place, done in blues and rich, wood-tones, appeared far more practical than the showy white-colored homes the rich seemed all too fond of. Lindsay kept her lips pressed firmly together, intent on not displaying herself as some yokel, while Stella merely absorbed and ignored the sight of the aesthetically displayed wealth, focusing on the three women present.</p><p>Nodding at the older woman in the uniform, who seemed to be in her forties or so, Stella noted the girl hadn't gone further than a few steps from the door; she still looked dazed. One other female, also in uniform, stood in the room, with no males apparent; this third woman appeared to be in her early thirties and Caucasian, as the other two seemed to be. The detective turned her attention back to the eldest of the three, but remained aware of the actions and reactions of the young blonde still near the door.</p><p>"We were told there was a missing girl? Her mother called it in."</p><p>With a firm nod, the house cleaner turned. "Madam. The police are come." She approached the dazed-looking girl and touched her arm gently, eliciting a scream none-the-les, causing Lindsay and Stella to jump. Wincing, the servant looked at Stella then back to the girl. "They've come about Celeste, Madam."</p><p>"It hasn't been twenty-four hours," came the soft, confused reply. The girl acted as if drugged. She turned dazed eyes on the two detectives and the investigator and moved slightly toward them. "I thought it took twenty-four hours to be considered a missing person."</p><p>"Actually, that's not true, Ma'am," Lindsay replied, studying the girl with a worried frown. "The procedures have changed in recent years. Are you the mother?" If she was then it was no upset teenager who had run away in a pique.</p><p>The older servant nodded firmly, interrupting, "She is. May I present Josephine Imogene Standish? Madam, this is Detective Stella," the servant made a very slight face at the apparently foreign name, "Bonasera. Celeste is the only child of Mrs. and Mr. Charles Beauregard Standish the third. We are all terribly worried about her, Madam."</p><p>Josephine nodded, the dazed look lessening only marginally. She moved her hands restlessly, and Stella noticed the bandaging on both. "I called the police when I didn't see her this morning. The woman told me to wait until supper, but I couldn't. I called again every two hours and was told the same thing. I was told she would probably come home for dinner or bedtime, or she would come home in a couple of days." The young woman's voice sounded light, soft, and sounded on the verge of tears. She looked straight at Stella then, her eyes still confused, almost haunted. "The woman asked me if anyone I could think of would want to hurt Celeste or take her from me, and I told her that I couldn't think of anyone who would want to harm her. Only Charles would try to take her, but he's been working all day, and he's not able to have Celeste at work, so I cannot think he would have taken her." Again, Josephine restlessly moved her injured hands. "The woman would repeatedly hang up on me; she never asked anything else. But," she turned her eyes towards each of the other investigators then back on Stella, "how would a six month old run away from home?"</p><p>"Six months!"</p><p>Officer Scagnetti's explosive comment seemed to break the woman's daze, coming from behind the investigators where he’d been silent until then. Josephine shrieked then fainted, no one able to catch her; it happened so quickly. The older woman gasped, her hands flying to cover her heart in an age-old gesture of shock; she recovered quickly, to her credit, and knelt by her mistress, checking the woman for additional injuries. The woman's shriek had made Lindsay jump again, but Stella's attention had fixed on the second servant, who merely stood by with hands quietly folded watching the entire scene as if detached from her surroundings. Scagnetti squatted down beside the prostrate woman; not too much later the mother of the missing infant awoke once more; however, she stayed lying on the floor.</p><p>Scagnetti remained squatting next to the young mother. He gentled his tone as he asked, "Are you okay?"</p><p>She turned dark green eyes up to his worried face then shook her head no. "I think so."</p><p><i>Definitely confused, her actions don't fit her dazed words . . . or is she trying to tell me something?</i> Stella frowned, as she watched the interaction. "Would you mind if we examine the apartment and ask a few questions?"</p><p>"Please?"</p><p>With a brief nod, Stella put her case on the floor as Scagnetti offered the woman a hand, to help her up. He waited patiently as she looked down at the hand, confusion on her face. Finally she slipped her bandaged hands onto his forearm and held tight, standing as he did. It was an unusual way for her to let him support her but that wasn't the oddest thing about this situation by far. The blood soaking through her bandages and onto his sleeve when she pulled her hands back worried him more.</p><p>"Ma'am? Your hands . . . do you need a doctor?" Stella kept her voice gentle, concerned, but she mentally filed the information with the other oddities: her confused affect, the missing infant, her injuries; somehow, Stella couldn't help but wonder if the mother had something to do with her own infant's missing status.</p><p>With a gasp, the housekeeper gripped her mistress's wrists and held her hands up, above her heart. "Madam, we should call Mr. Standish so he can get a doctor. How did you cut your hands?"</p><p>"I think . . . I don't know, Abigail. I . . ." Josephine frowned and looked helplessly at her hands, still being held at shoulder height. With a shake of her head, she looked to Stella, as if for clarification, but she remained quiet, watchful. "Charles will already be angry I called the police; I shouldn't call the doctor, too." Her voice sounded apologetic though she didn't take her eyes from the detective.</p><p>Unable to hold back any longer, Lindsay said, in some surprise, "Why would your husband be angry that you called the cops? Your daughter's missing!"</p><p>"Well," the younger woman replied, her voice as confused as ever before, "because I think <i>I</i> killed her."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Victims</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Setting: New York City: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #2</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p>
<p>"Ma'am?" John Scagnetti's voice betrayed only the barest hint of surprise. "Are you telling me that you killed your daughter?"</p>
<p>Linday stepped closer, silently displaying her support of her assistant supervisor, a psychological ploy to put the suspect off-balance. Another psychological ploy, Lindsay let her hand slip down to rest lightly on her hip, as if reaching for a hidden weapon; a frown on her fresh young face. With a confession this early in the investigation, one might think it'd be good news; after all, Mrs. Standish may have just made their job a whole lot easier. Lindsay didn't believe it was going to be that smooth, though; things never were.</p>
<p>"Madam, tell them you want a lawyer," the older housekeeper named Abigail reached out to touch the young Mrs. Standish's arm.</p>
<p>Regrettably Lindsay jumped too quickly on the statement, cutting off Stella before she could respond. "If you killed your daughter, why did you call the police four times?"</p>
<p>A small vibration at her hip drew Stella’s frowning attention, until she read the brief message. <i>‘Here. He has meds and sleeping. Connor watching Blue’s Clues. I’m free all night, S.’</i> She hit, with one finger, a quick reply, <i>‘Thanks, J.’</i> Stella lifted her eyes once more.</p>
<p>Abigail inserted herself in front of the dazed blonde. "She's in shock. Her daughter's missing. She doesn't know what she's saying."</p>
<p>"Oh, but I do," came the soft reply, drawing all attention to the young mother.</p>
<p>Seizing control once more, Stella firmly asked, "Josephine Standish, you are aware you've just confessed to the murder of Celeste Standish?"</p>
<p>Detective Scagnetti moved forward, pulling his cuffs from the belt loop he normally hung them on, his face becoming detached and expressionless.</p>
<p>With one slightly raised hand, Stella signaled the detective to hold off; something didn't feel right about this situation. She normally trusted her feelings, and nothing said she had to accept a confession at face value. The Greek-American woman wanted evidence to back up the mother's claim. "You said you <i>think</i> you killed your baby. You’re not sure?"</p>
<p>Josephine raised her green eyes to meet Stella’s equally green ones, a slightly surprised look on her face, "oh, no . . . but I don't know how else I got the blood on my gown." She restlessly moved her bloody, bandaged hands to indicate the white nightgown she wore. It had looked pristine when the group had arrived, but now fresh blood from her injuries dotted it.</p>
<p>Stella nodded, earning a soft moan of protest from Abigail. "It'll help things along if we're allowed to process the apartment, Ma'am."She had an idea where the mother could get blood on her clothes, and it didn’t prove of murder. "If we gather evidence, we can get justice for Celeste more quickly," <i>'or find her'</i> Stella added silently. She felt the mother was possibly in shock and felt guilty for something simply because she was the parent and her missing child depended on her.</p>
<p>"Then a confession isn't enough to arrest her?"</p>
<p>All eyes turned to the previously silent third woman near the far end of the room, quiet until that moment, watching in a detached manner. Now the blonde servant looked abashed that she had interrupted the investigation with her question.</p>
<p>Stella squatted down next to his case. Flipping open the latches which kept it closed in transport, she pulled out a pair of gloves and slid them on. The temporary head of the crime lab raised her eyes to meet the dazed ones of their new primary suspect, rather than the servant.</p>
<p>"We prefer to let the evidence talk."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #1</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>By the time Don and his fellow detectives got to the fourth floor it began to look pretty hopeless, and they still had four more floors to cover. No one had heard any commotion, no one had called for help, and no one seemed to like a man named Randy on the fifth floor. Don was getting sick of hearing about the jerk in 5D, as it seemed he was this sleazy night stalker who housed a live-in prostitute and did nothing but have loud, obnoxious sex all day. A niggling suspicion that the emergency call might be related to this very unpopular tenant began to build in the officer's mind.</p>
<p>When the small group got to the fifth floor, the feeling of uselessness evaporated in an instant, and the suspicion blossomed into certainty.</p>
<p>As the elevator door slid open, the sight of a smashed door not far away greeted the team. A pair of feet laid visible in a pool of blood just inside the doorway. In the hallway, not too far from the smashed door of apartment 5D, a second person laid, also in a pool of blood and apparently beaten beyond recognition. What looked like drag marks trailed from the apartment to the body in the hall.</p>
<p>Instantly the group went into action, with Aiden pulling her phone out and calling for more emergency backup. She pulled her service weapon in a smooth motion and joined Flack and Thacker. Don called out, "Police," before the three carefully stepped over the prostrate man in the doorway and entered the apartment. Sheldon, meanwhile, made his way to the body in the hallway as Danny headed for the guy in the doorway.</p>
<p>Letting the two police officers clear the studio apartment ahead of her, Aiden took in as much of the destruction as she could without losing the focus needed to protect herself. The apartment had been laid out in the style of one large room, with only two closed doors leading off. It was hard to tell just where the destruction began and ended: furniture had been smashed and blood splattered on pretty much every surface, and broken china and splintered wood were strewn everywhere. One glaring fact became obvious, and provided an immediate motive for the double attack: no television, computer, or other electronic gadgetry were visible, marking a definite possibility that this had been a robbery gone very badly. Spotting another obvious clue about the events which took place, Aiden made note that the phone had been ripped from the wall and laid on the floor near the kitchenette area.</p>
<p>Thacker swung open one door as Don kept his service weapon trained on the doorway, but it became quickly evident that no threat or even destruction lurked in the surprisingly serene, Oriental-style decorated bedroom. The other door, which presumably led to the bathroom, remained locked and presented a viable threat; no one knew if the attacker waited beyond that bit of wood.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #1</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>Kneeling, Sheldon placed two fingers on the throat of the victim in the hallway. His eyes opened wide in surprised relief. "Alive!" He fumbled his phone out to notify the two EMT's on their way up.</p>
<p>Danny nodded as he carefully knelt next to the second man, his drawn weapon in one hand. Feeling for a pulse, or even just air movement, the blond frowned and shook his head. "I want a second opinion, Hawkes."</p>
<p>"Right," Sheldon quickly moved to the doorway to replace Danny by the second victim, and Danny stepped back into the hall, holstering his weapon to start photographing the two beaten men and their bloody surroundings. The former medical examiner tried to find any signs of life on the second man, but failed time and again. Finally, he had to concede what Danny had suspected. In a tight voice the young African-American doctor looked up and called out, "Dead."</p>
<p>"Yeah, thought so," came Danny's sigh. He continued snapping pictures of the hallway, entryway, and both bodies until suddenly he noted something a bit unusual: the door next to the trashed apartment stood cracked open. "Hawkes, cover me," he called, letting his camera hang from its neck strap and drawing his service weapon.</p>
<p>Sheldon frowned, as he carried no weapon, but didn't argue with the more experienced investigator. Rather, he fell in behind the Italian-American and watched cautiously as Danny approached the door to apartment 5C.</p>
<p>The blond reached out to lightly tap the open door. "Police," he called out and waited for a reply. When nothing happened for a long moment, the CSI pushed the door open and looked inside. Both investigators poised for action, ready to take on a possible suspect in the beating at 5D.</p>
<p>What they got was anticlimactic to say the least.</p>
<p>An apartment, neat, if somewhat cluttered spread out before them. Sports paraphernalia decorated enough surfaces to indicate a junkie of sorts, and the mix-matched furniture leant to the air of a college dorm. Danny felt a single male lived here. However no one responded to their calls and no one seemed to be present in the entire apartment.</p>
<p>"Why do I get the feeling that our crime scene just got a whole lot bigger?" Sheldon looked around the empty room in obvious consternation.</p>
<p>With a nonchalant shrug Danny called back, "Until we find out who called 9-1-1, this entire building is a potential crime scene. Let's go report to Aiden and see how she wants to handle this."</p>
<p>"Right." Sheldon turned and made his way from the room followed closely by Danny.</p>
<p>At that moment the two EMT's arrived, coming out of the elevator.</p>
<p>Danny called out, "Stop there. Move in a straight line, but be careful!" Emergency Rescuers had life-saving in mind and were notorious for destroying evidence if it got in the way of the pursuit of their primary goal. Danny wouldn't let that happen. "The man in the hall is alive; the other one appears to be dead." Without a medical examiner, the CSI's had no right to pronounce time of death. That would have to wait on the arrival of Sid Hammerback or one of his underlings, despite Sheldon formerly being in that field; he no longer could legally claim time of death.</p>
<p>Nodding, the pair moved to the live victim, determining that the man had lost a lot of blood but, while unconscious, remained very much alive; his pulse came out surprisingly strong and had been what had startled Sheldon when he'd checked on him a few minutes earlier. If they were lucky, the man's injuries looked worse than they really were. Sheldon moved forward to join the EMT's.</p>
<p>"I'm going with him," he looked over his shoulder and Danny nodded in acknowledgment. Sheldon would process the man, keep track of his clothing, and interview him if he woke up. That victim was their best lead, and it would be foolish to let him out of their sight. Sticking to the EMT's, the former doctor followed their victim's stretcher from the hallway.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #1</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>"Police," Don called at the closed door. He stood poised, listening for some noise, some response. When nothing happened, he nodded to Thacker and Aiden and watched as the CSI started photographing the door and quickly processing for fiber and fingerprints. They had to get as much as they could, despite the fact that somebody might be in there. The trio froze at the sound of someone entering the apartment, and they looked over but went back to work as Danny joined them. Aiden carefully pulled the tape from the doorknob, folding the sticky surface over to preserve the fingerprints she'd found. With a nod the Italian-American pulled back to allow the detectives free access to the door.</p>
<p>Signaling Thacker to keep his weapon trained on the doorway, Don moved to try to open it. He couldn't get it unlocked and turned to Aiden. "Anything in your kit to get inside?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," said Danny, and he stepped forward, placing his kit on the floor. Opening the case, Danny pulled out a screwdriver and started quickly working on the lock of the door, getting the entire knob and lock fixture apart in only a minute or two. He bagged the entire contraption in case they could get more evidence off of it. With a step back Danny drew his service weapon to help cover the detectives.</p>
<p>Don nodded acknowledgment for the assist then steadied his weapon in one hand and carefully pushed open the door.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Suspect, Suspect, Who's Got the Suspect?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Setting: New York City: Evening; Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #1</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p>
<p>When Danny got the door open, Don immediately called, "victim down!" He glanced over the room, saw only the one person inside, and hurried in, followed by Aiden. The pair knelt by the bloody, beaten figure there: a small woman, though nothing else of distinction could be made out through the blood and damage.</p>
<p>Aiden called out, "Danny, get the EMT's!" She felt for a pulse, relieved when she felt the fluttering under her fingers. It wasn't strong, but it was there. "Still alive," she called. Aiden surveyed the damage to the victim, the blood trail, and the surprisingly untouched bathroom. As far as she could tell, the woman had either been dragged in there or she dragged herself in, but the attacker apparently hadn't continued the assault in there.</p>
<p>Not even a couple of minutes passed before a pair of medics presented themselves inside the apartment. Aiden and Don moved out of the way as the emergency personnel tended the woman. One EMT looked up at the pair of officers and said, in a very grim voice, "she probably won't make it. She's lost a lot of blood, and I'd swear she has a skull fracture."</p>
<p>"I'm coming with you to the hospital, then," Aiden shot back. She quickly followed the men from the room, keeping a careful eye on the stretcher and its unconscious occupant. As she passed she called out for Danny to process the scene.</p>
<p>He looked at Don with a frown. "Might want to go with Aiden, Flack. If the attacker is looking to finish that woman off, he might not let a hospital get in his way. I've got Thacker." Danny pulled off his gloves, took out his phone, and dialed Adam Ross. “Yeah, Adam. Get Kendall and Chad and get to . . .” he turned away from the group to finish ordering up reinforcements.</p>
<p>Don frowned but didn't argue the point. With three victims and no sign of the attacker, the night threatened to be an extremely long one.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #1</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>Hanging up the phone, he slipped it away and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. With a sigh, looking at the destruction around him, Danny gave a resolute nod. He'd worked worse. Setting his kit carefully in the kitchen area of the studio apartment, as that looked the least disturbed, he started taking pictures of the destruction once more.</p>
<p>He carefully captured the broken door, the many blood smears and stains, and the splintered furniture and what looked like porcelain all around. The sparse furniture struck him as odd, as well as the very thick woven mat under his feet as he moved through what would normally pass as a living room, if there had been any actual place to sit and relax in there. Instead, it looked like the chairs were in the kitchenette along with a table . . . the living room contained that thick mat, several overturned potted trees, and a rather damaged human-shaped mannequin. As he centered a shot on the mannequin he suddenly realized what this room was really for: a practice ring for fighting like an Oriental dojo. He moved towards the bathroom, to photograph the blood trail, when the sound of the elevator drew his attention.</p>
<p>Quickly the blond man made his way through the debris to head-off whoever had arrived. This was an active crime scene that included the hallway and possibly the next apartment over; he wouldn't let anyone compromise it. He didn't have to worry; the opening doors revealed more back-up officers and a couple of night shift CSI's, along with Adam, Kendall, and Chad. Danny nodded and gestured right back to the elevator.</p>
<p>"We have three more floors to check for that phone, and I need this place roped off. Include apartment 5C and the hallway from just before 5B to just before 5E," he gestured as he instructed them. "As soon as you've finished checking the other floors, I need you back here to process the scene. We have three victims, two which are alive but might not stay that way." He looked at the dead man on the floor and his frown deepened. "And still no idea who the attacker might be."</p>
<p>Danny moved back towards apartment 5D, but Evan Zao's arrival interrupted him. He nodded to the medical examiner and gestured with one gloved hand. "There's your patient, Doc."</p>
<p>Evan nodded once and moved to the dead man's side, glancing over the victim. As he pulled on his gloves, he gestured with his little finger towards a particularly nasty portion of the man's head. "Blunt force trauma most likely with a heavy object, maybe a bat or large pipe." He carefully started searching the man's pockets coming out with a wallet from one and a cell phone from the other. "Danny, I think I found your caller."</p>
<p>The investigator moved over quickly, frowning as Evan turned the phone towards him. Across the display were the numbers 9-1-1, and there came the sound of a woman calling, almost desperately, "Hello! If you can hear me, hello!" Danny carefully took the phone from the coroner and brought it to his ear but didn't touch it to his skin. Slowly he said, "Hello? This is Messer from the crime lab. Who is this?"</p>
<p>"Oh . . ." disappointment shaded the woman's voice. "This is Francie Jenkins from emergency response dispatch." She asked, with an attempt of hope, "Well, I guess our caller is being helped?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, by the coroner," Danny responded almost coldly. He didn't try to be mean, actually, he just wanted to get back to the investigation to figure out just what happened to this guy and his fellow victims. "Look, we'll need copies of the 9-1-1 call from this phone sent to the lab ASAP. And we may need to talk to you later, Francie."</p>
<p>Apparently the lady hadn't wanted to hear that, because she tried to protest. Danny overrode her. "Look, we have three victims and the one on the phone is dead. You may be our best witness to what happened. Stay in town." With that he turned off the phone and turned back to Evan. "What's his wallet say?"</p>
<p>"Randolph Williamson, lives next door in 5C." Evan handed over the wallet, open to the man's photo and driver's license. Even through the blood and destruction, the identification definitely identified the deceased man. Danny merely nodded, accepting the wallet and the information without a word.</p>
<p>Turning back to the body, Evan gestured. "I want to get him back pretty quickly. <br/>There are a lot of injuries, and I can better figure this mess out with my equipment." The Asian-American man then stood and signaled his men to get the body on their stretcher for transport. "I'll let you know when I have anything."</p>
<p>Danny nodded. "Thanks." He once more looked back at the mass destruction, the crime scene tape now cordoning off a large section of hallway, two apartments, and the stairwell. If the attacker used the stairs instead of the elevator to leave, his already big crime scene would once again get even bigger. With a sigh Danny stifled a yawn and headed back into 5D, prepared for a very long shift.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Hospital</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>In the ambulance, Aiden stayed out of the way as much as possible, recording what she saw of the victim, her injuries, and what the EMT's did for her. They cut off the remnants of her clothing, covering her with a sheet as Aiden bagged the evidence. An oxygen mask and IV tubing were quickly utilized, but the EMT’s did very little work on the woman, except to monitor her breathing, making sure she didn't expire on the way to the hospital.</p>
<p>Upon arrival they quickly whisked the woman into a cubicle, leaving her on the stretcher while they moved around her, still monitoring. Aiden managed to take a few shots of the woman's bruises and lacerations, as well as the severe damage to her head and torso . . . her legs and arms had defensive wounds but seemed less injured than her face, denoting a personal motive for the attack. Repressing a shudder, Aiden had to push out memories of Stella’s condition from several months ago; no one that worked for the crime lab would soon forget the group assault on one of their own. No one actually stopped Aiden from photographing which was a rarity, and one nurse actually moved out of Aiden's way so she could get a clearer shot.</p>
<p>That was odd in itself; Aiden usually had to fight to get the documented evidence she needed. But the real oddity of the case came when the doctor walked in, took one look at the patient, and turned to Aiden,, saying, "You want to do the kit or should I?"</p>
<p>"What?" From the faint fluttering the investigator had felt when trying to find a pulse, Aiden felt sure there would be some major life-saving efforts going on; however, it seemed as if she'd skipped a page or two somehow. No monitors or respirator were hooked up, only the IV and oxygen, and those were, at the moment, actually being discontinued. Aiden turned confused eyes on the doctor. "What's going on?"</p>
<p>With a shrug, the doctor said in a neutral tone, "ID found in the clothes say she's a DNR."</p>
<p>Aiden frowned, jumping on the statement. "What ID? I didn't see them pull one out and I bagged her clothes . . ."</p>
<p>The doctor turned and gestured towards one of the EMTs, who held a small leather pouch and an identification card. "He removed it while you were climbing in the ambulance. Jaime, give the officer the ID and purse."</p>
<p>He obediently trotted over and offered the objects to Aiden, who gave him a disgruntled look. She glanced at the card and realized it wasn't a picture ID. It was merely marked with the address, the name M. Katsu, and the words: Do Not Resuscitate." She instantly glared at the doctor. "And what if that's not M. Katsu? Put her on life saving equipment; she's a possible witness to a murder." Waving the card, she bit out, "The super of the building said a man lives in this apartment not a woman."</p>
<p>Surprise registered on the weary doctor's face but Aiden immediately barked orders to once again attempt to resuscitate the woman. After several minutes off the necessary oxygen, though, they found themselves rushing to perform CPR. Aiden was shunted to the sidelines as she watched in rising anger as the emergency team tried their best to save their unidentified victim. <i>’If that woman dies, there'll be hell to pay,’</i> Aiden silently vowed.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Hospital</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>Settling next to the man's bed, Sheldon carefully started taking fingernail scrapings from the unconscious figure. He'd already gotten the requisite photographic evidence of the man's wounds, noticing how the bruising and breaks, of which there were several, centered around the man's groin, face, solar plexus, and extremities. His head had received a couple of sharp blows, as well, consistent with severe blunt force trauma.</p>
<p>Working quickly, yet carefully, the former medical examiner processed the man's limp body, working around tubes and wires. As the patient had been breathing on his own, life support hadn't been needed, but the IV, catheter, and monitoring equipment were still numerous enough to prevent any rapid movement directly around the patient's bedside.</p>
<p>As he worked Sheldon made mental observations about the victim and his condition, still torn about what the weapon could have been; he thought it might have been a bat or pipe of some sort. The x-rays he'd viewed while standing behind the doctor supported his theory of a severe blunt-force attack, but some of the positioning in the resultant bruising didn't mesh with the idea of a guy bashing him hell-for-nothing. They seemed angled oddly and very precise.</p>
<p>A sound from the man alerted Sheldon and he quickly looked up, delighted to see the man's eyes open and focusing on him.</p>
<p>"Wha . . . where?"</p>
<p>Sheldon offered the man a gentle smile. "I'm Sheldon Hawkes from the crime lab. You're in the hospital. Can you tell me your name?" He'd had a wallet with driver's license on him, stating his name to be Robert Tyler, but Sheldon asked the standard question simply to verify.</p>
<p>Swallowing the man's eyes roved around the room before focusing once more on the investigator. "Uh . . . Bob. My name's Bob . . . Tyler."</p>
<p>With a nod of encouragement, Sheldon asked, "Can you tell me what happened, Mr. Tyler?"</p>
<p>His eyes snapped to Sheldon's as if magnetically drawn. After a few minutes of awkward silence, and several more swallows, the man choked out, "Yeah . . . that broad tried to kill me. She . . . I think she killed him, too."</p>
<p>"Who? Who tried to kill you?" A frown crossed the former doctor's face.</p>
<p>"The bitch who attacked me!" Bob seemed to relax a bit because he painfully moved in his bed and looked around once more, eyes darting to the door, the window, and the obvious security camera above the television. He looked once more at Sheldon and clarified, "I was making a food delivery like I do every week. When I knocked, she opened the door and suddenly went all ballistic on me! Then some guy comes up behind me and whales on me. I couldn't fight them both off and I went down. I think she went after the other guy then. She's nuts!"</p>
<p>Pulling out his notebook, Sheldon started rapidly writing down what the man said. "Do you know who she is?"</p>
<p>"Yeah," Bob frowned, "I think . . . uh, I think she lives there. She's the one who I drop the food off to every week . . . a short chink who's too stuck up to even say thanks. She pays but she don't tip, neither." The frown evaporated as he shifted his eyes around the room again.</p>
<p>Sheldon's pen flew over the paper and he barely stopped as he asked, "Does she live there alone? What about family or friends? A man named Randy?"</p>
<p>Bob shrugged and then whimpered in pain. "I don't know her name. I never seen a guy there yet. I been delivering there for about a year and she's the only one I seen." He watched Sheldon writing for a long moment then got a thoughtful look on his battered face. "Hey, can I press charges? She tried to kill me. I wanna sue . . . or whatever."</p>
<p>Stopping, Sheldon raised his brown eyes to the man and frowned slightly. In a neutral voice he said, "You'll need to speak to an attorney about any legal actions you want to take." He kept his eyes locked with the man's, noticing when Bob started fidgeting. "What about the guy who attacked? Did you recognize him?"</p>
<p>With a sneer Bob nodded, his voice dripping with satisfied contempt. "Yeah, next door neighbor. Nosey bastard who thinks he's some sort of superhero or something. His name's Billy . . . or at least, that's what he told me."</p>
<p>Sheldon nodded as he wrote the information down. It looked like this case was taking a very odd turn of events. "So, did you call for help?"</p>
<p>"What?" Bob looked confused then shook his head looking a bit nervous. "No . . . come to think of it, must have been a neighbor called. I was too busy fighting two freaks to do much anything else."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Mr. Tyler. I appreciate the information. I might need to clarify some things at a later date; would that be all right?" The investigator rose slowly, waiting for the man's reply. When it came, it surprised Sheldon, to say the least.</p>
<p>"Sure. Stop by anytime. And I'll need a lawyer so I can hit her with attempted murder and stuff, right? Maybe you can recommend one?"</p>
<p>Turning to put his notebook and the evidence together with his kit, Sheldon answered carefully, "I'm sure the hospital or the yellow pages would be a better help, Mr. Tyler. I'll be in touch." And with that he quickly left the room, heading towards the parking lot and the lab. He wanted to consult with Danny and Aiden, not liking how this case felt one bit.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #2</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>Lindsay pulled on her own gloves, watching the three suspects carefully; considered all three women suspects at this juncture. Stella carefully questioned the eldest lady, Abigail, while the youngest, Mrs. Standish, slumped on the raised step between the entry and the living room. That left the third woman, the one who'd stayed mostly to herself, and that was the one Lindsay decided to approach first.</p>
<p>"Hold out your hands, please," she instructed in a crisp voice.</p>
<p>Blinking in surprise the woman drew herself up to her not-quite-considerable size, being on a par with the rather petite lady of the manor. "I beg your pardon!"</p>
<p>With a sigh the blond investigator looked at the smaller woman. "It's standard procedure to take samples to rule out those closest. Therefore we need to take swabs of your hands."</p>
<p>The woman turned to look at her dejected employer. "Mrs. Standish, this is outrageous! They think I hurt Celeste!"</p>
<p>Looking up, the dazed look left the mother's eyes to be replaced by abject interest. "Well, Sophie, I'm willing to say they probably think any one of us could have hurt her. After all, she's gone, there's blood in the nursery, and I've admitted to murder. You'd do best to cooperate or ask for a lawyer if you feel you need one."</p>
<p>Stella and Abigail turned towards the woman in interest, while Scagnetti headed towards the back hall. Lindsay frowned but not in disagreement; the young woman's affect was totally different from the dazed, confused manner she'd presented a few minutes ago. Before the detective could try to puzzle it out further, Sophie thrust her hands under Lindsay's nose with a sneer, startling the woman.</p>
<p>"Well, I didn't confess to anything; I don't see why I should be a suspect. More like it was the maid, Bettina, or you, yourself, Mrs. Standish, what with your odd starts." The blonde servant seemed disgruntled and barely tolerated the fingernail scrapings Lindsay performed on her. When asked to open her mouth for DNA evidence, it seemed she might refuse only to reluctantly cooperate with a menacing glare for the investigator.</p>
<p>Stella turned towards the young mother and asked, "What does she mean by odd starts?" She felt a bit surprised the woman hadn't gotten defensive when the servant threw the accusation at her. However, as Mrs. Standish had already confessed to the murder of the missing child, it might easily explain why she didn't get offended by her employee's words.</p>
<p>Josephine looked at the investigator and slowly stood from her step. "I've been told I sleep walk." At Abigail's nod of agreement, the petite woman strode over to Lindsay and Sophie. "Perhaps you should sample my hands, too, Officer. I'm the one who was bloody this morning."</p>
<p>"And bloody again, Mrs. Standish," Sophie spat out waspishly, apparently in a very bad mood.</p>
<p>Josephine merely ignored the woman's words, holding out her bloody, bandaged hands.</p>
<p>With a quick glance for approval from Stella, Lindsay began carefully unwrapping the bandages from the young woman's hands, revealing slices along the fingers and palms. They were deep and some looked to need stitches. Shocked, Lindsay looked at the woman. "You need to go to the hospital."</p>
<p>Shaking her head, but not removing the injured limbs, Josephine said, "No. I can't. Charles wouldn't approve."</p>
<p>Stella asked, "your husband won't approve of you getting medical treatment?" She frowned, a bit skeptical, but the answer interested her. This case got weirder by the minute.</p>
<p>The younger woman turned her head and nodded, seemingly unaware when Lindsay pulled one hand closer to her face, shining a light on it. As the investigator produced a pair of tweezers and started to carefully pull something from inside the wounds, the lady of the house merely watched Stella with a thoughtful expression, showing no signs of feeling pain. "It's in the contract. I cannot leave this building without him unless I want to lose everything."</p>
<p>Lindsay looked at her supervisor. "Stella, look at this." She held up a small sliver of something in the tweezers.</p>
<p>The brunette detective moved to stand next to the young blonde, carefully shining the light on the object in varying angles. She looked at Lindsay. "That might be glass, might be crystal. It's certainly not plastic." Turning back to Josephine, who still stood with her hands outstretched, Stella asked almost gently, "Mrs. Standish, did you cut yourself on something?"</p>
<p>Josephine looked at her hands as if seeing them for the first time then lifted her eyes to meet Stella's. "I don't remember. I went to sleep in my room then woke up in Celeste's nursery with my hands cut and bleeding. I didn't see Celeste anywhere. Bettina was trying to bandage my hands when I woke up."</p>
<p>"Where's Bettina now," queried Stella. They needed this other person; at the very least, she could be a witness. It was also quite possible the woman was the murderer or kidnapper or an accomplice.</p>
<p>Abigail jumped in. "She's still out looking for Mr. Standish, Ma’am. As soon as I got here, I sent her for him, but she hasn't come back."</p>
<p><i>’Damn! The woman could be two states away with the baby by now!’</i> Stella pulled out her cell phone and dialed dispatch, quickly asking for an APB concerning the missing Bettina, filling in descriptors as Abigail frowningly provided them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Collections</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Setting: New York City: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>New York City: <b>Stella’s Apartment</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p><p>Putting away his phone, Johnny sighed and turned back to the man on the couch, thick red fluid covered both patient and furniture. “Kristen? Did you locate the Connor?” he called, still not seeing the smaller charge he’d been asked to look out for.</p><p>“Yes,” came the amused voice of the psychological therapist. “I’ve stalked the prey . . . it’s under this sleeping surface.”</p><p>Blue eyes slipping over to take in the delicious derriere of the petite blonde with him, Johnny grinned. “Is it viscous?” he asked, playfully, stepping back over to Mac, whom he’d already doped with his night medications. “So, Mac, what happened to you?” The detective’s eyes remained closed.</p><p>“Papa dead!” came the merry shout of a small boy’s voice followed by giggles. “Heya, Auntie Kristen!”</p><p>“Oh, no, it’s the vicious Connor! The most dangerous animal in the apartment!” Kristen laughed back at the three year old with large blue eyes and dark brown curls.</p><p>Laughing outright, Connor shot back, “not Connor! Papa was. Connor kill him.”</p><p>“Dead?” Johnny asked. “So, what’s the red stuff? Is he a corpse or a buffet?”</p><p>Mac’s eyes slid open and open and he scowled sleepily. “You will <i>never</i> eat anything off of me, John Kelly.”</p><p>Johnny grinned back widely, hands on hips as he stared down at the incapacitated officer. “Not my type, Taylor. Too many dangly bits.”</p><p>“Your loss,” Mac quipped back. He tried to wriggle up to a sitting position, hissing at the pain to his shoulder.</p><p>“Well, he may not be your type,” Kristen shot back from next to the bed, “but you're the one whose bathing him. I don’t wanna see Mac blush.” She managed to snag the wriggling, crawling Connor by a foot.</p><p>“Hey!” yelped Connor, laughing. “No fair! Al’gators got no hands!”</p><p>“You’re an alligator?” Johnny asked, grinning. He aided Mac up and off the couch, guiding the groggy patient to the only part of the apartment with a door: the bathroom. “Ready for bath time, Mac?”</p><p>“Please?” Mac asked, almost sounding like he begged - - almost.</p><p>“Well this alligator is taking up a Connor snack,” Kristen teased and she caught his other foot and started, carefully, shimmying him from under Stella’s bed.</p><p>“Can’t,” Connor confidently told the woman, grinning as she revealed him completely. He, too, had ketchup all over his clothing, leaving streaks on the floor behind him. “No snack. No cat sauce.”</p><p>“<i>Cat sauce</i>?” Kristen paused, suddenly wary. She looked dubiously over the toddler. “What is <i>’cat sauce’</i>?”</p><p>Running a hand through the drying, congealing ketchup on his shirt, Connor tried to lick it as he exclaimed, “cat sauce!”</p><p>Kirsten caught his wrist and stopped him before he could lick. “No! That’s dirty!” She suddenly got a devious smile and called, loudly, “maybe we should put him in the bath with Papa!”</p><p>“No!” Mac cried out, blue eyes widening in horror. He looked at Johnny. “Please, I need alone time.”</p><p>Snickering, Johnny said, “you mean you need <i>‘no Connor’</i> time.” He finished stripping the other man and helped him into the tub, turning to grab the supplies needed to wrap over Mac’s various injuries to waterproof them.</p><p>Mac nodded, not admitting it out loud in case the boy overheard. He highly suspected that Connor could hear every little whisper about him.</p><p>Connor giggled out in the main room. “Papa robber. Connor cop. Papa dead.” He touched his free hand, sloppy with goodness knew what, to Kristen’s belly as he stared into her eyes and stage-whispered, “he say no morgue doctor. Now Papa need morgue doctor!” He sounded gleeful at the game he’d forced his unwitting parent into.</p><p>Kristen sighed and moved Connor onto a sturdy kitchen chair. “Sit. Don’t move.” She gave him a <i>look</i>. “I <i>will</i> know if you move.” She turned to get a clean cloth to start cleaning the child up.</p><p>Connor wriggled in his chair, “Connor move!”</p><p>“Yes, i heard that!” Kristen shot back, suppressing her smile. “You’re not that quiet!”</p><p>“Connor can be,” the boy sing-songed, almost as if he threatened her.</p><p>The woman turned back and began washing his hands. “Oh, you can be, can you?”</p><p>Nodding, lifting his second hand readily for her to wash, Connor said, “uh, huh. Connor be mousey! Papa an’ Connor saw Nash-nal ge-graph.”</p><p>“Oh,” Kristen drawled, looking a bit surprised, “National Geographic?” At the boy’s eager nod, she added, “not quite child friendly.”</p><p>“Mama an’ Connor see it. Papa sleeped. Connor turn on Blue’s Clues.” Connor sounded so proud of himself. “Papa waked up. Papa sayed think baby easy watch. Connor sayed Blue not baby.” Connor giggled. “Papa close eyes. Papa sound like,” Connor let out a groan a zombie would have envied.</p><p>Kristen had to suppress her laughter on that one, knowing she really shouldn’t encourage this.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #2</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>"Which is Celeste's room?" Scagnetti's voice calmly sounded down the hallway.</p><p>Stella looked over the other women present and nodded to Sophie, the hostile younger domestic. "Go with Detective Scagnetti and answer his questions." She apparently turned his attention back on the young mother, Josephine, but watched the domestic surreptitiously.</p><p>The blonde woman in the uniform glared once at Stella then turned and walked briskly down the hallway, her angry stride lost in translation on the carpeted flooring, Lindsay following. She lifted a hand to open the last door on the left but halted as Scagnetti barked out, "Don't touch!"</p><p>Lindsay looked at Scagnetti, amusement in her wide, inquisitive eyes. "<i>'Please'</i> can do wonders," she lightly admonished but left it at that. Sophie's attitude pissed her off and Lindsay didn't mind a little payback in the form of direct orders from the overprotective cop she’d been temporarily partnered with. "The less you touch, the less chance your fingerprints contaminate the scene." She looked the lady over once and added, "the real kidnapper's fingerprints could be on the door."</p><p>Sophie's hand shot back to her side so quickly, Lindsay smiled in satisfaction. "But my fingerprints are everywhere here. I serve the Standish family. I have for years. I clean the halls and rooms, cook, tend to the refuse . . ." Her outrage seemed to evaporate into an air of worried confusion. "Are you able to tell the killer's fingerprints from the regular domestic fingerprints?"</p><p>Interest piqued, Lindsay flipped open her case and started removing supplies, keeping her voice casual as she corrected the woman. "We don't know that Celeste is dead, just missing."</p><p>A snort let her know the servant found the idea ludicrous. "Mrs. Standish admitted to killing the baby. She's covered in blood and out of her mind. She gets like that, you know. Sleep walks." Suddenly Sophie snapped her mouth shut and crossed her arms, glaring at Lindsay and Scagnetti in hostility.</p><p>Finishing with the door, Lindsay nodded at Scagnetti to carefully open it. He nodded and turned the knob, swinging the door into the room and onto a well furnished infant's room. To the left under an open window sat a toy chest, closed. A changing table and toy shelves framed the window while across the room stood the closed double doors of another room or large closet. Against the far wall sat an infant's raised crib, flush against the wall, with a dresser close by against the same wall. Under the changing table sat a closed trash can. The entire room had been painted a soft blue, even the furniture, and a pleasant smell of baby powder clung to the air.</p><p>Not a toy seemed out of place, but the room looked far from pristine. Bloody drops led from the door towards the little bed. Blood spattered the wall behind the crib and the crib itself had been sprayed. Two small pools of blood had dried on the crib rail.</p><p>"Shit!" Scagnetti swore, stating Lindsay's feelings perfectly. They had found the initial crime scene.</p><p>Lindsay looked at the domestic for her reaction. The woman stood stiffly, eyes wide, face pale. Her hands clenched and unclenched convulsively. She seemed too shocked to do anything else. She also seemed ready to pass out. The crime investigator barked, "Scagnetti, get her out of here."</p><p>He jumped into action, slipping a strong arm around the agitated servant and guiding her back down the hallway towards the rest of the investigators.</p><p>Taking a deep, steadying breath, Lindsay got to work.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #2</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>As Sophie led Lindsay and Scagnetti down one hall, Stella turned to look down the other. "What's down that way?" she asked Abigail.</p><p>The older domestic turned and looked down the hall as well. "That would be the kitchen, dining room, and night maid's room and linen closet. There's a private bath down there for the use of the help as well." She looked back to Stella, holding her hands out for processing, though the detective had taken over for Lindsay and still swabbed Josephine’s cheek.</p><p>Stella finished with the younger woman and turned to the older servant. "Would you mind if I recorded our conversation as we worked? I need to ask questions."</p><p>Abigail turned to her mistress for permission and, upon Josephine's nod, turned back to Stella. "Please. Anything to help find Celeste, Detective." She watched as Stella slipped a recorder from her kit and turned it on, clipping it to her pocket, then stood up before the other woman. She quickly swabbed Abigail’s hands then mouth.</p><p>Finally, Stella gestured towards the kitchen and asked, "would you show me around, ma'am?"</p><p>When the domestic nodded, Stella followed her down, carrying a stack of numbered tags. Her camera hung from a cord around her neck. She walked slowly behind the sedately moving woman, taking in everything. Noticing something, Stella called, "wait."</p><p>Abigail stopped and turned, puzzlement on her face. "Detective?"</p><p>Stella placed an evidence marker on the rug near some red colored drops in a smooth line down the white carpet. She lifted her camera and snapped a photograph, saying aloud, "Marker one, red colored drops on white carpet, hallway between main room and kitchen area." The recorder could be very useful for tagging her photo and evidence log, as well as recording what people said.</p><p>Scagnetti, coming back down the hall with Sophie, stopped beside Mrs. Standish and offered a gentle smile. His quick mind put the bloody scene together with the injuries and didn't add them up, so he felt more inclined to think the woman a victim or innocent bystander in her daughter’s murder. The lack of body worried him most; they had to find the night nurse.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #1</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>Using the back of his wrist to push his glasses up his nose, back into place, Danny sighed and logged the last of the photos he'd taken of the combined living area. Standing, Danny groaned and stretched his back. He glanced around and nodded. Calling out to the other investigators and detectives, Danny turned towards the door. "Anything else you get, bring in. Turning over the shift."</p><p>Danny headed towards the door and nodded gratefully at his night shift replacement. "I'm going to drop this stuff back at the lab and get some rest. The scene includes the hall and 5C next door. Call if you need something . . ." Danny paused then added on a chuckle, "but wait about eight hours if you can." He tossed a grin at the woman and headed down the steps. He slid into his car, exhaustion rippling through him. I need a cigarette. He pulled out one of his prescription herbal cigarettes and lit it before starting the car.</p><p>Pulling carefully into traffic, Danny headed back for the crime lab.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div><p>New York City: <b>Hospital</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:</p><p>Upon arriving at the hospital, Don found himself shunted to at least two different areas before he could get the proper location of their victim. His temper quickly eroding, he wasn't in the best of moods. With a glare for the indifferent receptionist who'd given him the runaround, Flack finally headed into the proper emergency cubicle . . . just in time to hear Aiden ordering the doctor to save the victim's life.</p><p>He watched, standing next to the clearly upset investigator, her body vibrating in intense emotion. "Did you process the vic, yet?" He kept his voice casual.</p><p>Aiden nodded. "Yes. I finished." She shook her head, brown eyes tired. "If she dies . . ." she let her voice drop off in a helpless warning.</p><p>Don turned his vivid blue eyes on the woman beside him. Taking in the tired eyes, the taunt features, the clenched fists, the detective made a call for the investigator. "Take it back to the lab. I'll babysit these vampires." He turned his eyes back on the furiously working doctors and nurses. Crossing his arms, Don added, "she won't die on my watch."</p><p>She hesitated. Watching the medical staff pump epinephrine into the woman's heart followed by some high voltage, Aiden sighed and nodded. "Okay, Flack. Call me when she comes around." Aiden didn't want to leave the victim, but she could do more processing the evidence. The sooner she processed, the sooner they might catch the assailant. Giving Don a tired smile, Aiden turned and strode from the room, evidence in hand.</p><p>Don watched the woman leave then turned back to observe the continual life-saving efforts.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div>New York City: <b>Crime Scene #2</b>: Wednesday, September 28, 2005:<p>After processing the kitchen, Stella took a quick break to call Johnny, hoping Connor and Mac weren’t giving her old friend too much trouble. She offered a smile to Abigail, who nodded and moved off back to the rest of the group. Putting the phone to her ear, Stella waited for Johnny to answer.</p><p>“Johnny Kelly,” his voice sounded tired but happy enough.</p><p>“Uh . . . how’s it going?” she asked, hesitant but wanting to know.</p><p>“Well, Mac's clean and in your bed. Connor’s eating pizza with Kristen. And I think I can get the ketchup out of the couch,” Johnny replied.</p><p>“Oh, Connor,” Stella moaned softly then perked up, eyes miserable. “Kristen? Johnny, you didn’t tell me you were on a date!” She wanted to strangle the redhead for keeping that to himself, though she knew he wouldn’t do anything improper in her apartment around her child.</p><p>“You didn’t give me a chance,” Johnny’s smile could be heard over the line. “You ordered me to go, so I went.”</p><p>Stella felt worse. <i>Why do the men in my life let me abuse them so much?</i> Out loud, she hissed, “you really <i>are</i> a <i>sub</i> aren’t you?”</p><p>Laughing, Johnny agreed happily, “yup. And Kristen loves it. You wouldn’t know she was a <i>dom</i>, would you?”</p><p>“Okay,” Stella rushed to cut him off. “T.M.I.! Enough. I called to check on you guys. I might not be back for a few more hours,” she warned him. “Think you can handle it?”</p><p>“Yeah, as long as the little morgue cop lets us put him to bed,” Johnny laughed. “We might even get the ketchup up from under your bed.”</p><p>Choking on the sudden bubble of laughter she tried to suppress, Stella glared despite Johnny not being able to see. “Stop it. Enough. Good night. I’ll call later.” She hung up, not giving her laughing friend a chance to respond with any more adorably annoying things her son had done to Mac.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: In the <i>SpeedBurn</i> timeline series significant changes occur in various episodes, marking differences in each series. The initial drastically changed episodes are in chronological order: "Bait" (<i>Without a Trace</i>), "Reveille" (<i>NCIS</i>), "Lost Son" (<i>CSI: Miami</i>), "Bodies in Motion" (<i>Crime Scene Investigation</i>), "Summer in the City" (<i>CSI: NY</i>), and "In Name and Blood (In Birth and Death)" (<i>Criminal Minds</i>). Many episodes after those changes are also different. This story is number 24 in the grand scheme. Thank you.<br/>.<br/>Disclaimer: CSI: NY was created by Ann Donahue, Carol Mendelsohn, and Anthony E. Zuiker and produced by Alliance Atlantis Communications (2004-2007), Alliance Atlantis Motion Picture Production (2004-2007), Alliance Atlantis Productions (2004-2007), CBS Paramount Network Television (2006-2009), CBS Productions (2004-2006), CBS Television Studios (2009-present), Clayton Entertainment, and Jerry Bruckheimer Television. CSI: Miami was created by Ann Donahue, Carol Mendelsohn, and Anthony E. Zuiker and produced by Alliance Atlantis Communications (2002-2007), The American Travelers, CBS Paramount Network Television (2006-2009), CBS Productions (2002-2006), CBS Television Studios (2009-2012), Jerry Bruckheimer Television, and Touchstone Television (pilot only). I am in no way connected with these people, and I do not claim ownership of these characters, lands, or names. I have borrowed them to share a story, and most likely not a story any of them would have written, had they had the time or no. I am making no money from this and it is just for my entertainment and that of free entertainment to a select group. Thank you.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>